a nameless yeast
st. johns
This could be cathedral light, an illumined motet that fills the empty room with a quiet, consecrated chorale. We’d bend over the afternoon cuppa or the first cool drink of beer as if in prayer, and in that sip our prayers would be answered and the world would be in balance.
It could be a soft saxophone of light riffing through the window, a syncopated bee-bop sunbeam, man, that keeps it cool but lays it all out. And maybe it’s afternoon for the squares, but it’s morning to us and there’s a jazz-based balance in that. That window transforms the tubercular sky into pure zen, and if our eyes are half-closed that means they’re also half-opened and that’s enough to see the light.
Or maybe it’s lonesome Waylon Jennings light, heart-broken and weary, too tough to quit but too honest to win. It’s that quiet pause, that holy moment of balance between the morning realization that you survived another night and the growing awareness that in a few hours you’ll have to do it all over again.
Beautiful light and a moment of perfect balance. It’s music…it’s more than music; it’s that sound that can only be heard between the notes.
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